Everything
by frickangel
Summary: When darkness falls and uncertainty plagues, choices must be made. But will Greg make the right ones? SaraGreg.
1. Chapter 1

**Title**: Everything  
**Author**: frickangel  
**Summary**: When darkness falls and uncertainty plagues, choices must be made. But will Greg make the right ones? SaraGreg.  
**A/N**: Bloody, stupid plot bunnies. Started off as "Pretty okay", then to "Err..." and ended with, "Let's just get this done and over with".  
Thanks to **Aidrianna** for her amazing beta skills. She will always be my hyphen and semicolon hero **–grins–.  
Disclaimer**: Don't know, don't own and don't I wish.  
**Chapter 1**

* * *

_"Mortal dreams are fleeting moments that go at daybreak leaving nothing but the empty shells of hope."  
-Keng Yi _

-----

There was silence.

There was darkness.

There was nothingness.

There was something wrong.

And he awoke. Air blessed his lungs along the way, as if it was the first breath of life he had ever taken and it felt like it.

The dim light assaulted his eyes, beckoning for him to close them again and return to his dreamless slumber. Yet, something from deep within shook his inner self telling him that nothing was real, that all of this was shadows of a lucid fantasy.

His eyes adjusted and felt comfortable enough to keep them opened a little wider. And then he realised:

_There was something wrong. _

Rubbing his eyes to relieve the sleep from them, he realised that his hands weren't gloved like he was accustomed to after all those years in the lab. The oddness of his naked fingers brushing against his bare skin was like ice-cold water trickling down his back.

The air was amiss with something yet he couldn't quite place his finger on it.

With the daze shaken from him, he found himself seated at a wide table and it was none other than the cool metallic one of his lab. Eyes trailing the reflected light, he saw many other things he recognised. Everything was all too familiar to him; from the machines that situated on the tables, the room space, and the arrangement to even the daylight of the fluorescent bulb from above.

Yes, it was true. He was home— in his lab.

And the moment of truth dawned upon him as he discovered the very thing that was wrong.

_There was silence. _

Nothing around emitted noise of any kind. Any normal hum and whirls from the apparatus and machines were not to be found. The only thing he heard was the rustling of his shirt and his jeans against his body as he stood up, setting himself to investigate his surroundings. The cold was assaulting him since he didn't have the protection of his lab coat any longer.

It was like a puzzle where the pieces never matched as if he was given a box with the wrong contents. Parts of his reality were all there and shown with pride, but none of it worked. The machines, which ran day and night, had stopped, the blue lab coat that used to adorn him was nowhere to be found and now his own existence in the lab was out of place.

Dancing his fingers across the table in harmony with his steps, his mind raced to find the answer but it was like a dream where the more you tried to recall, the more it slipped away. Gently, the fingertips traced the rim of a beaker and he picked it up. Remembering that the between two liquids mixed together, the one with the higher concentration of moles is called the solvent while the one with the lesser is known as the solute.

He rested the glassware back down and sighed.

If only he could remember what he had forgotten. It was there all right, but buried deep in the dark corners of his head.

_If only he could remember. _

"Looking for something, Greg?"

His body twisted behind, trying to find the source of such a clear yet simple voice. A voice that asked him the question he was seeking. His eyes rested upon her; with her pretty face framed with her dark brown curls and decorated with her smile. It was her smile that drew him to her; the smile like a Cheshire cat's that hid a secret- a secret which he must know. "Hey," the relief of seeing her made the uneasiness seem easier and her name flowed from his lips so effortlessly, "Sara…"

It surprised him so much to know her face yet the sound of her name was alien to his ears. His eyes felt tired once more and he half closed them, wishing the feeling to pass. A deep and growing ache troubled his abdomen and he clutched it, hoping that that too will go.

"You okay?"

"I don't know," Greg inhaled deeply and took a few steps closer, watching as she leaned back against a machine known as an infrared spectrometer. It was a simple-complicated device that meant nothing to him without the aid of the other needed machines It's like a square peg in a round hole."

Even when frowning, it never once ruined her beauty but on the contrary enhanced it.

"Why would you say that?"

It was his turn to frown. "Doesn't anything feel wrong here?"

He waited for her answer, and was rewarded by a scrutinising stare from her decorated with confusion. Maybe he hadn't been clear or perhaps he was speaking in tongues. Either way, Greg felt compelled to explain what he meant before she wrote him off as sheer crazy.

"This whole place…" His hands outstretched to emphasise on the enclosure surrounding them. "… isn't right. I mean, I see you, I see the lab and I know I'm here but…" His mind was overloading from the struggle to find the perfect word to express himself, but he failed to find any, "I… it's not right, Sara."

The cloud of confusion never left Sara's eyes and he could see it even more now as she stepped closer, closing the gap between them. Standing right before him, she leaned nearer and brushed something off his shirt's sleeve and that's when he saw the red. For some odd reason, he found the red colour of his shirt disturbing and it nagged at him even more. It was as if the symbolic shade had triggered some sort of unease and worsened the pain he felt at his side. His hand absent-mindedly reached for the ache, just hoping that his touch would soothe it.

Satisfied that no imaginary dust had soiled his shirt, Sara lifted her head and studied his face. "This _place_…" she spoke with care, "…is you."

He fought the urge to grab Sara by the shoulders and shake her roughly, wishing for a clear answer from her. Instead, he wrapped his arms around his body, partly from trying to keep the cold away, "I work here, if that's what you mean."

For the briefest moment, he could sense the confusion in her again but was quickly replaced by a small grin and then her chuckle. If he weren't so frustrated from all his questions, he probably would've laughed along.

Her chuckle slowly receded to only a soft gurgle he could barely hear and she took a deep breath, as if her tiny burst of emotion had taken a lot. "Funny," she smiled once more and shook her head, "Always the funny guy. That's who you are, Greg."

"There's only one problem with that," he interrupted her, "I'm not trying to be funny."

She paused, furrowing her eyebrows and closing her eyes. Staying still, he patiently pondered her silence, and with every passing moment, fear hammered on him and the feeling of helplessness and knowing something was wrong wasn't just a thought now, it was a reality. "Sara…" he called out her name and he had planned on sounding as indifferent as possible but all that escaped was a plea.

"You don't remember, do you?"

_If only he could remember. _

"Remember what?" his hands trembled as he grasped Sara's arm.

"Everything."

Shaking his head, Greg tightened his hold on her and spoke with a voice so soft; he couldn't tell if it was his own, "I can't."

There was a flicker of emotion in her eyes; was it pity or anger? He couldn't tell, but before he could decipher it, she took hold of his arm and pried his fingers off with strength he didn't know Sara had. "You need to," she whispered, matching her tone of voice with his, "You need to remember, Greg. Or else you won't be able to choose."

The anger broke through and dangerously boiled within him, threatening to transform his confusion and desperation into pure rage. "Why won't you just tell me?" his balled-up fist slammed against the cold metal, echoing the eerie clash in the room.

She didn't flinch, not even when the apparatus on the table bounced slightly, toppling a beaker off its base and brought itself to a shattering end. Instead, she did what Greg had feared she would do- Sara backed away and walked out.

Pressing his lips into a thin line, Greg suppressed the urge to scream like a madman and instead buried his face into his open palms. He ignored the dull ache that throbbed in his side as his hands ran through his curly brown hair. Taking a deep breath in, hoping that the air would miraculously bring the memories he sought; but nothing. Blinking the haze aside, Greg took his own steps out and ran after the senior CSI.

It was an odd thing; he could see her and she was walking steadily away from him. He was running but no matter how fast he was, he couldn't reach her. "Sara!" he called to her, yet she didn't look behind.

Maybe she hadn't heard him.

His feet pounded down on the corridor's floor, making another turn and still having Sara in his sight. It was then that he took a split second to look to his side, to the labs and offices and it struck him. It had been such a sudden revelation that he forgotten about his prey and he stopped in his tracks to make sure he wasn't imagining it.

No, it wasn't his imagination.

There was nobody.

Every office and every laboratory, behind long stretches of glass panes, were void of human presence. Only the machines sat idly by themselves, the furniture untouched and stationary. On his right, the A.V. room where he would normally find Archie sitting on his stool, trying to crack out the knots in his neck as he went through hundreds, if not dozens, of tapes and video footage.

Greg stepped up to the windows, pressing his face against the glass and searching for its missing occupant. Only the computers stood alive, the static flickering across the monitors but without an owner and without a purpose. Drawing back, Greg turned behind hoping to find Wendy, Bobby or maybe Henry. Even Hodges would be a sight for sore eyes. To his horror and dread, Greg couldn't find any of them.

The emptiness and silence of the building was disturbing and sent a shiver down his spine. The cold had nothing to do with it and the shivers that ran through him didn't cease. Everything was sterile and clean, where the calm water was unnerving and unnatural.

It was true. He was the only one left… but why?

No, there was another.

Sara.

She knows. She must know.

Tearing down the pavement, Greg resumed his search for the elusive brunette and for the equally elusive answers. He took at first a few rights and sporadic turns to the left looking for her and when he had stopped somewhere along to catch his breath, he found her.

Alone and standing still, Sara had her back facing him and her hands by her side; attention drawn away by something else. Pulling himself together, Greg crept up behind her, afraid that if he made any sudden moves, she would bolt and run again like a frightened animal.

Cold fingers of his brushed against each other as he lifted his arm to hold Sara by her shoulders. This time he will not let go and she would not be able to shake him off as easily as before. He was going to hold her down forcefully until she told him the solution to this god-awful riddle. Enough was enough.

Inches before he could feel her clothes on his fingers, Sara twisted her head behind and lifted her finger to her lips, signalling silence from Greg.

He froze, not knowing anymore what to do or to think. In the end, after watching her returning her gaze to the front and staring beyond, he clasped her shoulder. Greg had prepared the force he needed to turn the woman around but Sara had done so voluntarily and without objection.

She stood and locked her sight on the ex-lab technician.

_What was he going to do?_

Greg shut his eyes to think of the right words to say, knowing that his past question had not been answered without uncertainty. Sara's tilted her head slightly, as if she knew what to expect from him, knowing the words he himself didn't know. He swallowed hard and parted his lips, "Tell me."

"Tell you what?" she quizzed him.

"Everything."

"Everything?"

"Everything."

It was as if every other sound had disappeared along with the people, nothing existed except him, Sara, and his DNA lab behind her.

Only then did he realise he had ran a full circle, coming back to the exact spot he had left after her. Slowly turning back to Sara, he held his breath and waited for her to speak, for the sound to return to him and for reality to kick him.

Air rushed by him, like someone had turned off the vacuum and now every sense was being sucked back in and he could finally hear. Eyes still on Sara, he saw her mouth move and let out two simple words.

"Get down."

Greg never knew she had such strength, the power to push him down to his knees, using her body as a shield against the sudden explosion shattering from somewhere behind her and throwing out a great force. A force that Greg recognised too well and wished he never had. The smell of fire, mixed with the chemicals and the gas had tipped him off as well as the fire licking at his bare skin. He screamed for it to stop—to end.

And it did.

He opened his eyes, not remembering he had closed them and he found Sara crouching by his side—searching him. It didn't matter if she was there or not, but the feeling of exhaustion overwhelmed him suddenly, crushing him and choking him. Could be from the sweat that the heat caused, could be from the tears, could be from the memory of three years ago, or could be everything. Sliding down and leaning against the wall, Greg could feel the heat travelling through it and emanating from the lab.

"Why?" he pleaded at her, not knowing why she had put him through this nightmare again, "Why?"

She was kneeling by him, face to face and he found nowhere to escape, "Because this is what haunts you, and scarred you, Greg. You need to solve your past demons before you make your choice."

"What choice!" he coughed on the smoke as he brought his hand up to wipe the soot from his face only to be welcomed with a sticky warmness. In the dim lights, he could see the blood oozing from the cut on his arm. A piece of glass must've gotten him. Yet, why didn't Sara look dirty or shaken? She was the one who protected him.

"Listen, Greg!" she cupped his face in her hands, forcing him to pay full attention to her. "I want you to understand that there was nothing you could've done back then to stop the explosion. It was never your fault, there was not—"

"There was!" he yelled at her. "I could've checked the hot plates, or separate the solvents… make sure things were li—"

"Nothing!"

"What do you know? You weren't there!"

"I _was_!"

No. It couldn't be. "You weren't," he whispered now, too tired to go into another screaming fest. "Not there."

"I was…"

He followed her gaze, along the smoke, the shards of glass, pieces of cement, plastic and burnt paper. Greg was staring at himself, lying on the floor right at the front of his lab. The Greg that he was three years ago, broken from the explosion, hurting and just lying there like a worn out rag doll.

Closing his eyes, he tried blinking away the image but it was there and that mirror of himself lay coldly on the ground. That couldn't be him. He was sitting here, away from the lab and this was years ago. Turning away, he looked aside and found someone else, another person, another Sara.

She was on the floor too, but conscious and bleeding.

The words stuck in his mouth, and threaten to suffocate him but letting his mind whirl piecing together the puzzle of the two Sara-s he saw and his mirror image.

"I was there." Sara broke the silence and disconnecting his gaze. "I saw everything, felt everything. I was there."

He turned back, and looked but the two others were gone. Leaving only him and Sara alone- again. "I don't remember…"

"Through my eyes, Greg… You were seeing it through my eyes."

A crack broke through the barrier, forcing the emotions out of him and the tears had never felt so good. "I was so scared."

"I know." Sara held him tight, close enough for Greg to feel her soft curls on his face and to touch her comfort. "I was scared too."

After the explosion and Catherine's private confession, Greg never blamed the older woman. He wouldn't be human if he hadn't been angry at her and he did. But it was Catherine; one of the few he would trust his life with no matter what and she had come to him, telling him the truth although she didn't need to. He would've received the official report sooner or later.

It was after the initial months of shock had worn off, and everything settled in. His nightmares chased him, forcing him into paranoia and depression and finally out of the lab. He couldn't talk to anyone because no one understood it. Grissom tried, but only after discovering how his hands shook so badly and his fear numbed his senses, dimmed his humour and self-esteem.

Wave after wave of self-realisation crashed on him, and all Greg could do was to hold on to Sara.

"Got to make a choice now."

Greg was too drained to feel any more curiosity or confusion, he just wanted it all to end and maybe he could finally go home. He let his head fall back against the wall and rested there for a while, feeling himself breathe easier just a little. Finally his eyes lifted to meet hers and nodded slowly at Sara, not understanding still by what she meant. "What about?"

"Life," she simply replied and smiled gently. "Remember back before this. Where were you?"

No energy to fight the questions, he allowed himself a moment to ponder the easy question. "In my lab."

Sara shook her head, and asked once more, "Before you came here, Greg."

His head dulled with pain, and the ache from his abdomen had escalated from a slight throb to a wincing pain as he bent over slightly from it, reaching to hold where it hurts. "Why does it hurt?"

"Greg…" she held his head back up, ignoring his question. "Recall where you were."

"I don't…" he spoke through clenched teeth, trying hard to bite back the pain that assaulted him, wondering why it hurt so badly, why Sara would be asking him senseless questions and thinking about the gunshot that had tore through him.

He gasped.

The memory sliced through the haze and came in broken parts, and he remembered. He remembered screaming Sara's name before seeing the flash and the pain before the darkness.

"I was shot."

She nodded a few times in silence, pressing her lips into a thin line as if she was trying hard to control her own emotions. "Yes… you were."

"Right here," his hand moved over the exact point of the sting, where the bullet had entered. He realised what it meant: his red shirt- his own blood. "I'm dead."

"No!" Sara held his face between her palms and assured him, "Not dead… not yet."

"What about you?" Another sort of cold fear gripped him, hoping and praying that she wasn't here for the same reason.

Was she?

"I'm here to help you." She smiled weakly.

"Not dead?"

"Not dead," shaking her head another time, she held on to Greg's hand. "And neither are you."

"Is that a good thing?"

"You have a choice, Greg."

"I think I know what you mean now," he weaved his fingers between hers, feeling her smooth skin and laughed a small chuckle, "But–"

"Think!" she commanded him, yet the plea was there. "Think of the things and of your life. Please."

_What life_? He asked himself the same question everyday. Since he was young, life was all about studying and getting that high score because everyone knew he could do it. Teachers, tutors, neighbours all told his Norwegian family that Greg was a gifted genius, that he shouldn't be confined to the limitations of California's ways. They all agreed and were prepared to send him off to some distant. No one cared what young Sanders wanted because everyone thought they were giving him the best.

All they knew was to expect the same thing from Greg and no one bothered to care about his actual needs. And for some god-forsaken reason, he couldn't find it in himself to rebel and be the person that isn't Greg Sanders. He wanted the attention as much as he wanted people to listen to him and he found the best way to do that was to give them what they want. Finally, for once in his life Greg made his family listen to his choice.

He threatened to disown his family, to not do well and even suicide. But no one took him seriously, because Greg Sanders was a wholesome son who did as he parents wished. This time, Greg took matters into a non-Sanders fashion and attempted an overdose, finished off with strong alcohol from Papa Olaf's liquor cabinet.

Finally, they abandoned their plans and gave Greg the local education he wanted and he was accepted into Stanford, moving into Phi Beta Kappa. From that day onwards, Greg thought he had finally outgrown his obsession of pleasing people, but he was wrong. Subconsciously he retreated to the old Greg and without realising it, was once again living to please people.

It was after he was transferred to Las Vegas did he find his old habit. People were expecting Greg to make things happen, to always be happy and chirpy, maybe hyperactive even. Then they wanted him to work faster and longer, and be just as contented. The one time he sunk into his realisation, he had ordered Warrick and Nick to leave his lab. They never asked him if he was all right and instead asked if he had taken his meds that morning. Good ol' Rick and Nick who only thought that Greg knew jokes and the birds and bees. Even after the explosion, they wanted the giddy-happy Greg back but no one knew he had died in the fire.

Coming out to field, he had hoped people would see a change and not want their DNA man back. Instead, the expectations piled on and on.

He was tired… so, so tired.

"It's my choice?"

"Only you can choose to live," Sara replied, never once leaving him.

Staring at her, studying her brown eyes, Greg wished he could tell her about his façade and what he wanted in his life. "And if I choose otherwise?"

He could see her swallow hard and look away, "It's your choice…" she whispered sadly.

Through the three decades of his life, through all the decisions he made, this was the one time he felt like he couldn't care much about the outcome. Yes, people would be sad, or upset, but who would they really mourn for? The man whom they'd known or the man who they let slip pass?

Jumble of memories and moments in life drowned him, but there was a glimpse of a smile.

A smile and a laugh.

The laugh turned into a frown, and sometimes a scowl. Then there were the times she made fun of his addiction to coffee or his choice of music, to the occasional grins she slipped pass under Grissom's disapproving glare. It had started off as a playful crush, something he did to uphold his playboy image, but over the years he forgot the "playful" part and had allowed it blossom into true friendship.

Genuine jokes and laughs exchanged; no fake smiles and plastic chuckles.

Maybe it was more than just friendship. And maybe for once, he had really stopped pretending and had truly let himself be himself. If only he could hear her laugh again, just one more time before he left.

His lips parted, the words, '_Sara, laugh for me?'_ forming at the tip of his tongue. "Do I click my heels together and wish?" It was a lousy attempt at good humour, but it was humour nonetheless, yet Sara never laughed- not even a smile. He felt disappointed at himself and at her. Why wouldn't she just laugh?

"No," she replied meekly and placed her forehead against his. "They will know."

_Who was 'they'?_ the question was ready to roll, but instead he was overwhelmed by her presence and her physical touch.

And her tears.

Even in the midst of the smoky dimness and the thick, heavy air, Greg could only feel her warm skin against his and the coolness of her tears falling on his cheeks.

Closing his eyes, his thoughts drifted from the humid air, to the dusty floor, the ache in his side, his choice and Sara's laugh. One by one, those thoughts disappeared like morning dew in the hot afternoon sun, until finally he was left with the ache—which soon subsided.

Left with his choice—which was soon forgotten.

And left with her laugh—which soon faded.

Then there was nothing.

* * *

**TBC… **

Thanks for reading  
-Cheers  
Jo


	2. Chapter 2

**Title**: Everything  
**Author**: frickangel  
**Summary**: When darkness falls and uncertainty plagues, choices must be made. But will Greg make the right ones? SaraGreg.  
**A/N**: Bloody, stupid plot bunnies.  
Oh, and I based a lot of Greg's younger days on the CSI novels. In the latest one, "_Killing Game_", Max A. Collins makes out Greg as a young prodigy.  
Thanks to **Adrianna** for her amazing beta skills. She will always be my hyphen and semicolon hero –**grins–.  
Disclaimer**: Don't know, don't own and don't I wish.  
**Chapter 2**

-----

Hovering between two choices, Greg loathed the idea of either one.

In the end, only one could be made and he chose.

He opened his eyes.

Light assaulted him with full force and he squinted at the unfriendly guest to his sensitive sight. Slowly, after blinking away the flash spots and double vision, he found himself lying flat on his back. Surrounded by white and silence, he could've mistaken it for heaven.

But heaven doesn't have soft white bed sheets or pillows under his head. Neither does it have air-conditioning which was too cold, even in the Las Vegas heat. The biggest tip-off was that heaven doesn't have sleeping brunettes at your bedside, head on the edge of the mattress and hand firmly grasping yours. No, this was anything but heaven.

Pulling his hand over, his reach was restricted by the tug of his I.V. line and the needle biting into him. Gently, with what little length he had, Greg's fingertips traced her soft curls that laid on the bed; with her face buried into the bed sheets it left him wondering if she could breathe through all that material.

Tired of the stretch, Greg permitted his hand to fall back comfortably as he took in his surroundings. There was a vase filled with brightly coloured flowers on the table to his left. A small tiny card rested neatly among the long stalks and Greg squinted at the small handwriting scrawled on it though he couldn't make out any of the letters much less who it was from. Shifting his head to the right, Greg saw the stuffed dog with a ribbon tied around his neck just sitting there on the chair and staring at him. Greg knew that toy too well and instantly identified who the culprit behind the joke was.

They had named the dog Stanley when it sat on a similar chair two years ago. It was after the explosion and a friend had dropped the stuffed toy to cheer Greg up at the hospital, Nick had visited and pointed out that stuffed toys were for losers. After much rolling of eyes and bad puns, Greg had sent Stanley to Nick for his next birthday and wrote one word on his birthday card: "Loser."

A sense of familiarity brushed against Greg and caused him to laugh at this silliness that was Stanley. With laughing came the pain from his side forcing Greg to instinctively reach out and press against the ache. Letting out a couple of coughs, he swore at himself as he saw the brunette stir and blink at her rude awakening. Yet at the same time, as he watched her rouse from slumber, he felt relieved.

Pushing back her hair, she took in a deep breath and glanced at Greg, who in all his amusement at watching her wake, smiled weakly. He found it interesting to watch her shift from utter morning daze to sudden shock and mentally laughed.

"Hey, you're awake…" the surprise and relief was evident in her voice yet Sara kept her tone down.

"Hey yourself," he croaked back, suddenly realising how parched his throat was. Looking around, he discovered that there wasn't a pitcher of water anywhere nearby. "How long was I out?"

"A couple of days," she answered, although the time she took to come up with the reply had him suspecting she had given the amount a slight discount. "You had a lot of people worried there for a while."

He pulled his hand from hers and brought his fingers to caress her face. "You look like hell." It was obvious she was crying, with slightly bloodshot and extremely puffy eyes. It was going to take a whole week of eye cream and cucumber slices to get rid of it.

"No so hot yourself, Sanders."

He loved it when she used his last name, coming from anyone else it would've sounded too informal or distant, but not from her.

And there it was, she smiled and laughed. All he could do was to stop and admire the lightness and clarity of her joy.

"What?"

He hadn't realised he had stared a little too long and would've shook his head to dismiss her question if it wasn't for the fog that filled his head. Obviously, the pain medication was doing a better job at keeping him sedated than numbing the hurt. Instead, left with little choice, Greg merely blinked and left his eyes closed for a few seconds, "Just fuzzy…"

"Oh God!" Sara jumped and ruffled her hair more, lost and bewildered for a moment, "I'm such an idiot! Should get the doctor in here and he should check you… and here I am just sitting here and doing nothing—stupid idiot!"

Babbling Sara was a much funnier scene than a groggy Sara.

"Where the heck is that button?" her head turned sideways as she wildly searched for the call button. Standing up, her feet shuffled against the smooth tiles and she did a complete 360 degree whirl on her quest to locate the evasive thing.

He allowed himself a few seconds of amusement, just watching the woman he had known to be in total control to lose control of herself. Figuring he had taken too much fun from this guilty pleasure, Greg pooled his strength together into one hand and grasped Sara's arm just as she reached the knob. He could really appreciate this alone time with her; he deserved it, didn't he?

"I'm fine," Greg assured her. "I think I'll pass on the prodding and poking from the doc… just for now."

Scepticism clouded her face but her body yielded and settled back into the chair- away from the button.

"So…" he cleared his throat, but nothing seemed to help ease the dryness, "What happened?"

Eyebrows knotted, Sara leaned forward and laced her fingers lightly, "You don't remember?"

He inwardly cringed at the words and at the pain, "I got shot, but that one's obvious." The small grin he wore slowly faded as he saw Sara's less than amused look. Greg figured he must be losing his touch on humour or else it's a hospital's curse that killed all things funny and joyful.

"We were at the Levon crime scene," Sara began, and bowed her head slightly.

"Levon? Wasn't that the couple that was—"

"Robbed and murdered in their own home." Sara completed the memory for him and pressed on, "We were there after the neighbours called in; found the wife in the basement and the husband in the master bedroom. Nothing unusual, just another day on the job."

Greg frowned at the idea that it was all 'another day on the job' to Sara. People lost their lives and the sad reality of it all was that it's death that places food on the table for them. There were two reasons why he'd let Sara go on without debating the casualness of death, one was that his throat was sore and two, it was because he'd rather listen to her voice.

"The officers cleared the area, and I went on processing it, picking up fibres, trace, fingerprints and the usual. No one noticed a small storage room hidden behind the boxes down there- not even me. But then again, that's what basements are like right? Hidden places in the dark everyone forgets about."

She was laughing now, but it wasn't the laughter that one shared when tickled or entertained, it was the sardonic kind that found the irony in a situation. Greg tried pulling himself up into a better upright position, instead of being on his back the whole time. In fact, he was beginning to feel sore in the neck.

A helpful hand appeared to assist him up, setting the pillow against his back for more comfort. Greg caught the disapproval in Sara's eyes as she aided him, yet she allowed him to do so and giving a few moments pause from her story.

"The killer was still in the house and nobody knew," Sara continued and settled back into her chair after pulling it closer to the ex-lab tech. "My back was towards him and I only realised he was there when something—a can or a crate maybe, I don't know… but it fell and I turned. He already had a gun pointed at me and I couldn't reach my own weapon, he wouldn't let me, Greg." Voice beginning to strain, Greg wondered if this was the first time Sara had allowed herself emotional release. He reached out for her and held her hand, not knowing what else to say or do.

"I kept staring at the gun, wondering what I should do, but then I heard footsteps- _your_ footsteps coming down the stairs and before I knew it, you were by my side in the same deep shit as I was." Sara had the same laughter again, and silently Greg was beginning to fill in the pieces that had eluded him before.

"You tried talking him out of it," Greg interrupted, grasping the broken bits of memory within him. "You were walking towards him when the officer from upstairs called to find out what was going on and what was talking so long. His name was Gerald wasn't it? Officer Gerald?"

Sara nodded, her eyes tearing and Greg found himself being washed over by _Déjà Vu_.

Taking a deep breath and closing his eyes as he went on, "Gerald drew his gun, the killer had his and he… pulled it on you."

"I didn't think and I heard you screaming my name. My ears were ringing from the shots and for the first few seconds I thought I was dead when I hit the floor. Until…," Sara held her voice in a deep whisper-like tone, "Until… I realised you were on top of me and… bleeding."

It was odd that Greg discovered how detached he was from the incident; he remembered the main details but it was as if he dreamt it all and he could easily shrug it off.

"I'm sorry." Sara choked back the tears as she locked her eyes upon his and Greg felt that she was seeking his forgiveness.

But there was nothing to forgive—there was only Sara.

Slowly he brought her into his embrace as firmly as he could without wincing too much at the discomfort the damned I.V. needle was causing him. He wanted to say it was okay and that it wasn't her fault at all, but he knew Sara always held herself responsible for everything that went wrong; he also knew that the best way to make her realise otherwise is for him to remain silent and let her come to that conclusion on her own.

In his arms, Greg held her tightly and took in the fragrance of her hair, filling his sense with the smell of citrus. Then there was the soft ocean perfume that she wore after every shift before going home or to a breakfast date. He used to tease her about it, saying that he never took Sara for a girly-girl kind. He grinned as he recalled how she had sprayed him with the scent for calling her so.

After that they had gone to the diner together smelling alike. "I'm up now, so everything's fine," Greg assured her and to a certain extent—himself.

"I'm glad to hear that, Mr. Sanders."

Pulling themselves slightly apart, Greg found an Asian woman standing at the doorway, decked in a white lab coat and a stethoscope coiled neatly around her neck.

"I'm sorry, Dr. Chen. I know I was to call when he woke up and all, just that—"

The doctor smiled and raised her hand to stop Sara from babbling on, to which Greg chuckled silently to himself. "It's all right Ms. Sidle, though it doesn't look like it did much harm. But we'll take a look at Greg to make sure of that, won't we?" She had a slight British accent which had Greg pondering if she was local or not. His lips curled into a small smile as the doctor motioned towards him.

Ruffling her brown curls again, Sara nodded in agreement and stood up, "I should go call your parents and Grissom too, and Papa Olive was—"

"Olaf." Greg corrected.

"Oh." Sara blushed while drying her eyes with her palms and sniffling a little, "Sorry… Papa _Olaf_ was beyond worried. We were afraid he was going to get a heart attack."

"That's him," Greg chuckled, but this time his voice betrayed him as it cracked and forced him to sputter and cough on the last syllable.

She took that as a sign that her time with him was up for that hour and began the process of leaving. "I'll see you later." Squeezing his hand another time, Sara took a few steps back and grabbed her coat from the chair and a bag from underneath the bed; a bag that Greg hadn't noticed before.

Reaching out, he grabbed her arm just as she turned away, "Sara?"

"Yeah?"

He took a moment to study her face, the brown eyes, brows, high cheekbones, the soft brown curls, her smile, and he knew instantly what he needed to say, "Thank you."

Shaking her head in mild confusion yet smiling, Sara shuffled closer to him, "I don't get it- but for what?"

He pondered on her question for a while and thought of the clarity of her laugh, the lightness and the clear joy that topped it off.

_It was her laugh that brought him to live._

"Everything," he simply answered.

A question was forming on her lips, and Greg could see that though in the end, Sara merely chuckled and let out a long breath. Bending down, she leaned closer and planted a light kiss on his lips.

Finally moving away from him, Sara flashed the doctor another smile and made her way to the door. He watched her as she side-stepped a little to allow a nurse in and wavered at the entrance. Turning behind, she leaned against the frame and spoke the words that completed his return back to the living, "You're welcome, Sanders."

The door closed behind her with a light click, leaving him with Dr. Chen as she went on about how his operation was, the wound and what was done. In all honestly, the words the good doctor said were lost on him as he stared at the door and slowly, a lopsided grin formed on Greg's lips.

He did make a choice.

He chose her.

-----

'_It's like daylight,  
At midnight,  
It's my favourite dream when nothing's really as it seems,  
Don't wake me,  
Just take me,  
Take me by the hand and I will believe.'_

-**I Will Believe**, Nicole Nordeman

-----

-**END**-

A nice warm thank you to **LocoGrego**, **BeetleBug**, **csiwolfe08**, **missusmesser**, **gregisamazing** and **ObessedTWfan** for those amazing reviews.  
To everyone else, thanks for reading.

-Cheers  
Jo


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